


Supply and Demand (the Marginal Propensities Remix)

by via_ostiense



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: remixredux07, M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-19
Updated: 2007-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/via_ostiense/pseuds/via_ostiense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows he knows the score.</p><p>THIS IS A REMIX - NOT ELIGIBLE FOR REMIX REDUX.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supply and Demand (the Marginal Propensities Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Supply and Demand](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2526) by yin_again. 



> Written for remixredux V.

"My employer has a son. Rodney."

John looked up. Zelenka was standing in his doorway, arms crossed. "What's up?"

"He’s a very intelligent young man, about your age. Rodney is," Zelenka paused, "difficult." He grimaced. "Difficult and arrogant, but intelligent."

“Yeah?”

“His father wants you to be Rodney’s friend,” Zelenka said.

John stared. “What?”

Zelenka sighed. “His father is willing to pay you. I don’t approve of this buying friendship and I’m not sure you would like Rodney, but your mother agrees it’s up to you. And you are good at making friends.”

“Yeah,” John said. “I’ll think about it.”

 

 

“Congratulations,” said Dr. Gruen, shaking Rodney’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure teaching you.”

“Thank you,” Rodney said. He couldn’t wait to leave for research labs and graduate housing.

“You must be very proud,” Dr. Gruen said to Rodney’s father.

Max McKay grimaced. “Good enough for now.” He turned to Rodney. “Let’s go. Your new friend’s arriving at 7:00, and I expect you to play nice with him.”

Rodney glared. “I don’t need a friend!”

“Bullshit,” his father replied. “C’mon.” He walked away.

“Well,” Dr. Gruen said awkwardly. “Good luck at MIT. You’ll do great.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Rodney said, and left.

 

 

“I’ll pay you double to leave.”

John’s not sure why he’s here. Well. There’s a contract in his pocket: five hundred a week for three days and weekends, four hours on weekdays and six on Saturdays and Sundays.

 

“My son needs a friend.” Mr. McKay had looked at John without smiling. “Socialize him.”

John said, “I can do that.”

 

He says, “John Sheppard, your new best friend.”

Rodney snorts. “I can say with complete confidence that I can’t have a new best friend if I never had an old one.”

John flops down on the couch. “Now you’ve got one.”

 

 

Sheppard is handsome. Sheppard is athletic. Sheppard isn’t smart and he shouldn’t be here.

Thursday, Rodney sulks.

Friday, he’s blissfully alone.

Saturday and Sunday, Sheppard’s around for twelve hours. Talking. Eating. Asking questions. Looking at books. Poking at Rodney’s Steinway.

On Monday, Rodney loses his temper. “If you have to be here, aren’t you supposed to entertain me?”

Sheppard looks up from a volume of Asimov. “It’s a little hard when you’re offended by my existence.” He puts Asimov down anyway. “You play basketball?”

Rodney crosses his arms. “I’ve never wasted my time with sports.”

Sheppard rolls his eyes. “Chess?”

 

 

Queen to D3. Beale to Cannon. Knight to E5. Mitch to Ford to Dex.

“You play your queen too much,” Rodney says. Rook to E5. “It leaves you open. Ha.”

“Works for me,” John says. “Checkmate. Ha.”

Rodney swears. “Where’d you learn to play? Radek teach you?”

“No,” John says. “My dad. It’s a strategy game.”

Rodney doesn’t say anything.

“One more,” John says, sorting out black from white. “If I win, we play basketball.”

“And if I win?” Rodney snorts, and John knows he knows the score.

“Then you get to pick.” John leans back and says, “Your move.”

 

 

“I’m not good at this stuff,” Rodney says, holding the basketball warily.

“What ‘stuff’?” Sheppard says, hands on his hips. He flicks his hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head.

“Physical stuff,” Rodney says. “I’m better at intellectual pursuits.”

“Throw the ball through the hoop.” Sheppard makes the gestures, shoot and follow through in a graceful arc. “It’s angles and spatial relations. Your kind of thing.”

“I know that,” Rodney snaps. “It just gets complicated when you add in the other people trying to screw you up.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Sheppard says, and pounces.

 

 

John nudges Rodney. “We’ve been playing video games all week. Let’s do something else.”

Rodney shoves at him half-heartedly and runs over a pedestrian onscreen. “It’s your fault for crippling me.”

“You scraped your knee.”

“I could’ve gotten tetanus,” Rodney says. “You’re lucky I didn’t fire you.”

John flattens a few pedestrians himself. “You can’t fire me, I’m your friend.”

Rodney watches the TV. “No, you’re not. I can’t fire you because you’re my father’s employee.”

John doesn’t look up, either. “I would be, you know. If you’d let me.”

Silence. Rodney says, “I guess we could go swimming tomorrow.”

 

 

The pool is freezing.

“Sh-sh-should have heated it.” Sheppard’s hair is plastered to his forehead and his lips look blue.

Rodney burrows into a towel. “I did yesterday, but the v-v-v-volume of water is too much.” He gets his shivering limbs under him. “The sauna should be good.” They stagger through the glass door and collapse.

The sauna is hot, moist, and dark.

Rodney’s half-asleep when Sheppard says, “Hey.”

“Hey, what?”

“I’ve got a name, you know.” Pause. “You could use it.”

“I do, Sheppard.”

Rodney hears Sheppard turning over.

“No, John.”

“I’ll think about it.” Rodney closes his eyes.

 

 

Mondays are paydays. John feels a little like a hooker, but mostly he tries not to think about it.

“It’s nearly the end of summer,” Mr. McKay says.

John slouches in the visitor’s chair. “Yeah.”

McKay tents his hands and says, “I’ll give you a raise. Nine hundred for another weekday.”

John wants to say, keep your fucking money.

John wants to say, you don’t need to pay me.

John wants to say, Rodney’s my friend.

“Sure.”

Outside McKay’s study, Rodney’s leaning against the wall.

“Well, John,” Rodney sneers. “Friends, huh?” He stomps away, and John’s left watching him.

“Fuck.”

 

 

John shows up every day that week. Rodney locks himself in a different room each day.

“Rodney, I know you’re in there.”

“Rodney, c’mon. At least talk to me!”

“Fucking hell, get out here!”

By Friday, it sounds like John’s lost his voice.

On Saturday, there’s nothing, so Rodney cracks his door open. John shoves through and grabs his arm.

He looks angry and tired and says, “I want to show you something.”

Rodney tries to jerk free. “Like I care.”

John drags him to the window and points at the driveway. There’s a new car there.

“You got a car out of being my ‘friend?’ Good for you.”

John lets go of him. “Yeah, and good for you, too.”

“What?”

John sighs. “I saved your dad’s money and bought that.”

“So?”

John looks at him, straight at him. “That is my new car,” he says slowly. “I will be using it to visit you on breaks.”

What—“Why?”

“Because you’re my friend,” John says.

Rodney thinks about it. “MIT’s a long way from Colorado.”

“I’ll go wherever you are,” John says, and smiles tentatively. He glances out the window, then back at Rodney.

Well. “Okay,” Rodney says. “Okay. John.”


End file.
